Memory in Death (In Death #22)(13)

Well, he and Eve knew all about being shit on. Life hadn't dealt either of them a pretty hand, and had given them no stake to play it. What they'd done—each in his own way—was make a win out of it. Bluffing, bulling, and at least in his case, cheating their way to the pot at the end of the day.

But there was always another game to be played, always another player willing to do all manner of nasty things to take a share. Or take it all.

Well, come on, then, he thought. He wasn't just willing, but more than able to do all manner of nasty things himself.

He couldn't go back, more's the pity, and beat her bastard of a father into a gibbering, bloody pulp. He couldn't make the dead suffer, as Eve suffered still. But here, fate had dropped a pale substitute right into his hands.

A live one. Plump and pink and prime for skinning.

Trudy Lombard was in for a very unpleasant surprise.

He imagined the last thing that would be on her mind when she crawled out again would be to slither her way around Eve.

He turned, glanced around his office. He'd made it what it was. Needed to. He knew what she would see when she came in, out of the cold and the gray. She'd see power and wealth, space and luxury.

She'd scent the money, though if she wasn't brainless, she'd have some idea of the pot on his table.

An idea that would be considerably short, come to that, he mused. He may have been legal now, but that didn't mean he felt the need to make public what was in all his pockets.

He kept books in his private office at home, updating quarterly. Eve had access to them, should she ever have any interest. Which she wouldn't, he thought with a faint smile. She was easier with his money than she'd once been, but he was still a faint embarrassment to her.

He wished he knew the name of the gods who'd looked down on him the day he'd met her. If he could stack everything he owned, had done, had accomplished, on one side of a scale, it still wouldn't outweigh the gift of her.

As he waited for time to pass, he slid a hand into his pocket, rubbed the button he carried, one that had fallen off her suit jacket the first time he'd met her.

And as he thought of her, he wondered how soon her mind would clear and snap back. How soon she'd realize why she'd encountered this ghost from her past.

Once she did, he mused, and closed his hand over the button, she was going to be right pissed.

Judging the time was right, he walked back to his desk, sat, buzzed his admin.

"Caro, you can bring her in now."

"Yes, sir."

While he waited those last moments, he chained up what was inside him. What wanted the taste of blood and bone.

She was what he'd expected from his research of her. What in some circles was called a handsome woman—big and bony, her hair freshly done, her face not unattractive and carefully enhanced.

She wore a purple suit with bright gold buttons and a knee-length skirt. Good, sensible heels. Her scent was strong and rosy.

He got to his feet, and though he remained in a position of power behind his desk, he offered a polite smile and his hand.

"Ms. Lombard." Smooth, he thought when her hand was in his. Soft and smooth, but he wouldn't have said weak.

"I so appreciate you taking a few minutes out of what I know must be a very busy schedule."

"Not at all. I'm always interested in meeting one of my wife's... connections? Thank you, Caro."

He knew the brisk tone told his admin not to offer refreshment. She simply inclined her head, backed out. Shut the doors.

"Please, have a seat."

"Thank you. Thank you so much." Her voice and her eyes were bright. "I wasn't sure if little Eve—sorry, I still think of her that way— if Eve had mentioned me."

"Did you think she wouldn't?"

"Well, you see, I feel terrible, just terrible, about the way I handled things yesterday." She pressed a hand to her heart.

Her nails, he noted, were long, well manicured, and painted boldly red. There was a ring on her right hand, a thick gold band around a sizable amethyst.

Matching earrings, he observed, to make a well-put-together if unimaginative ensemble.

"And how did you handle things yesterday?" he asked her.

"Well, poorly, I confess. I realized I should have contacted her first, and instead I just jumped in head first, a habit of mine. I'm just too impulsive, especially when my feelings are engaged. Eve had such a hard, hard time back then, and seeing me, out of the blue, no warning at all, it must've taken her right back. I upset her."

Now she pressed that hand to her lips, and her eyes shimmered. "You have no idea what that poor, sweet child was like when she came to me. Like a little ghost in my house, hardly casting a shadow, and scared of even that just the same."

"Yes, I imagine so."

"And I blame myself for not thinking it through first, because I understand now that seeing me again just made her remember those terrible days before she was safe again."

"So, you've come to see me so I can pass your apologies along. I'm happy to do so. Though I think you've overestimated your impact on my wife."

He sat back, swiveled the chair lazily. "I believe she was a bit irritated by the unexpected visit. But upset? It isn't the word I'd choose. So, please, rest your mind, Ms. Lombard. I hope you'll enjoy your time in the city, however brief, before you return home."